


Quindi Questo è Amore

by ramee



Category: One Direction
Genre: Fluff, Honeymoon, Italy, M/M, guys srsly why is larry so real, so much fluff your teeth will hurt, they love each other a whole lot wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:42:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2835137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramee/pseuds/ramee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmastime and Harry and Louis are honeymooning in Italy. They are hopelessly in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quindi Questo è Amore

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Holiday Cheer Fic Challenge.  
> My prompts were: fluff, Disney, hot chocolate
> 
> Please bear in mind that I do not speak Italian and I used Google Translate for all of the Italian in this fic. I'm sorry if it sucks.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://23yroldlouis.tumblr.com)????

Everything is silver. Treetops glisten as moonlight reflects off of the light dusting of snow, and the ground is covered in a bright sheen of shimmery white. The sky is a deep, beautiful midnight blue, and no one who looks out the window tonight will be able to stop themselves from staring in awe at the beautiful Italian skyline.

Their Christmas tradition, usually, was to split the time evenly between their two families. They'd drive from London to Doncaster on the twenty-third so that they could be there for Louis' birthday, and then at noon on Christmas day, they'd leave for Holmes Chapel to spend the next few days with Harry's family.

This year, however, they'd decided to do something a bit different. It was a precarious decision, setting the date for their wedding the weekend before Christmas, but Harry'd been totally in love with the idea of a winter wedding, and he'd settle for no less.

So after an unbelievably happy nine years of complete bliss, they'd tied the knot at a lavish London hotel just as the sun set over the December skyline, and bright and early the next morning, hopped on a plane to Verona for their honeymoon.

At first it had been a bit disheartening, to be spending the holiday so far away from their families; to replace the lights and biscuits and loud Christmas morning with a small villa on an Italian vineyard, almost completely devoid of any festivity (save for the fairy lights and holiday-scented candles Harry'd packed into his suitcase). But when the newlyweds first walk into the charming house they'd be staying in for nearly two weeks, they figure it's worth it.

“Have you got any idea where the thermostat is?” Louis asks, poking his head into the small kitchen where Harry was poking through drawers. “I'm freezing.”

“Put some socks on, then, you goof,” Harry replies with a fond smile. “It's winter.”

“Don't try to change me,” Louis mumbles, stepping forward to press a quick kiss to the spot behind Harry's ear before running out of the room in search of a way to turn the heat up.  
Harry smiles as his husband retreats. He'd been so in love with Louis for such a long time—they'd waited as long as they did because they'd spent most of these past nine years in school or in uni or broke—and it felt incredible to finally have said his vows.

Their first day in Verona is spent mostly indoors, discovering little closets, figuring out which switches controlled what, and repeatedly consummating their marriage. In the twenty-four hours they've been married, they'd done that more than anything. They'd even done that before leaving the hotel in London on their wedding night.

“How many times do you think my mum has called since we left?” Louis asks as they lie in bed their first night, running his fingers through Harry's mess of hair as his head lies on the older man's chest, both warm in sweaty in a haze of post-coital bliss.

Harry giggles. “Can we please not talk about your mum while we're naked?”

Louis smiles, pressing his lips to the crown of his husband's head. “I'm cold.”

“You're always cold,” Harry responds. He snuggles closer into Louis' chest, nuzzling against the skin there.

“Well, fortunately for me, you're an actual human furnace,” Louis says. “I should take you to a doctor one of these days. You're always, like, a thousand degrees.”

“Would taking me to a doctor involve getting out of bed?” Harry asks.

“Yeah, love, unless you want 'im to see your willy.”

“Then let's just stay here,” Harry smiles into Louis' chest hair. “I'll keep you warm. Body heat and that.”

“Did you bring hot chocolate?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Are you four years old?”

“Actually, I just turned five last week, thank you very much,” Louis says quietly, voice heavy with exhaustion.

Harry grins. “We can go into town in the morning and get some?”

“Is it too late for me to go out and get some now?”

Harry glances at the clock. “It's half ten.”

“But I _really_ want hot chocolate,” Louis says.

Harry rolls his eyes and smiles. “If you'd like to brave the cold to get us hot chocolate, be my guest,” he says, rolling away from his husband.

Louis sits still for a moment, appearing to consider his options, before climbing out of the massive, plush bed and beginning to dress himself. “I'm going. Keep the bed warm for me, sweet cheeks.”

Harry groans and tosses a pillow at Louis' back as he leaves, laughing the entire way.

(He is very, very in love with his husband).

With a content sigh, Harry snuggles his face into Louis' still-warm pillow and reaches for the TV remote. He flicks through channels upon channels, most of which playing only in Italian, until he settles on some movie station.

There seems to be a Disney marathon on, and Harry busies himself with watching as Ariel pleads with her father to just let her out of the water, and of course, sings along loudly to every song. Every once in a while Louis sends him a text message, usually something like “Are coffee shops even open this late?” and “I forgot that I don't speak Italian.” The one that read “What the fuck does _questo non è un caffè_ mean?” was particularly entertaining.

Harry types out a text message quickly, using an online translator because his Italian is just about as strong as Louis'. “ _Tu sei il mio sole_ ,” it reads.

“I know you used Google Translate for that, loser,” Louis' near-immediate response reads. Harry chuckles and tosses his phone somewhere into the sea of blankets, content and warm and very much in love. He must drift off a bit to the sounds of the television, because soon enough, Louis is pressing gentle kisses against his temple and stirring him awake.

“I've got our drinks, love,” Louis tells him, voice full of honey and wine. “They'd better be delicious, too, because it took me forever to find the damn place.”

Harry smiles presses his thumb into the bone of Louis' wrist as the cup of hot chocolate transfers between their hands. “I love you,” Harry says with a warm smile.

“I love you, too, silly,” Louis says sipping his own hot chocolate and snuggling up against Harry's body. “Now shut up, it looks like Cinderella is coming on.”

So they sit in silence, sipping from their cups and sharing silky chocolate kisses, so in love and feeling very at home at each other's sides, even hundreds of miles from where they live.

 _So this is love. So this is what makes life divine_. - Cinderella (1950)


End file.
